


Momentum

by Himmelreich



Series: Every Wednesday, I'm here, in jail [5]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“You’re surprisingly good at this,” he remarked, making no move to get up, eye fixed on the ceiling, and Slaine saw the way the other’s chest heaved with faster breathing with some pride. He himself was in comparatively good shape, still.</i><br/><i>“What’s with that </i>surprisingly,<i>” he asked, walking around to Inaho’s side and extending his hand. Inaho took it without reservation and let himself be pulled back on his feet.</i><br/><i>“In all honesty, I didn’t pick you to be such a mean fighter,” Inaho admitted, shaking and stretching his right arm, “I suppose that was a foolish mistake to make on my part.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentum

**Author's Note:**

> More or less a continuation of _Entanglements_ , with special kind regards to certain people who wondered if their reaction to those two fighting was appropriate. ~~It was. I think.~~ TL;DR: No matter what they may have achieved, they are still [competitve idiots.](https://twitter.com/mmt_910/status/596714568308498432)

“Seven - four.”  
Slaine stepped back the same moment he could already hear panicked movement from the guard behind him.  
“Sir, is everything-”  
“I’m fine,” Inaho said, voice muffled by the gymnastic mat beneath his face, before rolling on his back.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” he remarked, making no move to get up, eye fixed on the ceiling, and Slaine saw the way the other’s chest heaved with faster breathing with some pride. He himself was in comparatively good shape, still.  
“What’s with that _surprisingly,_ ” he asked, walking around to Inaho’s side and extending his hand. Inaho took it without reservation and let himself be pulled back on his feet.  
“In all honesty, I didn’t pick you to be such a mean fighter,” Inaho admitted, shaking and stretching his right arm, “I suppose that was a foolish mistake to make on my part.” 

“All things considered, I’ve been in the army longer than you have,” Slaine reminded him as Inaho stepped off the mat to pick up his water bottle from the table at the side, “and they didn’t go easy on me in training, either.”  
“Because you’re Terran by birth?”  
Slaine shrugged, catching the bottle Inaho tossed him.  
“Probably, but the training was fairly strict in general. It’s a militaristic nation, or at least, it used to be.” 

Inaho did not pick up on the implicit question, but maybe he also just did not care much for Versian reforms. There was no reason for him to, Slaine realised, and probably Inaho’s curiosity as to how good Versian soldiers could fight was mainly of practical concern and not based on the intrigue of the underlying structures of the Empire’s society.

“You certainly weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t go easy on me,” Inaho spoke again after a pause of both of them drinking, putting the bottle down and probing his right forearm with the fingers of his left hand carefully. “That’s going to bruise.”  
“What, regretting this idea of yours already?”  
“That’s not what I said.”  
“Sir, should I get the first aid kit or something?”

Slaine and Inaho both turned towards the young warden at the door, who looked incredibly uncomfortable. He had done so ever since he had escorted them to the fitness room intended for the staff and explained that by his orders it was impossible for him to leave the prisoner completely without surveillance with Inaho as long as the other was without weapons, not to mention actively engaging in a fight with full body contact. He had listed several paragraphs to drive home his point, and Inaho had shrugged and told him to stand down unless anything were to happen. It had not hindered the man from nearly falling into a fit every time Inaho lost a round, which, to Slaine’s gratification, had been the case more often than not. He could understand the guard, however - having to stand watch and bearing the responsibility for a high-ranking officer for no reason insisting on battling it out with a prisoner of war probably was a stressful job, and Slaine did not envy him for it.

“It’s alright, but thank you,” Inaho turned down the offer politely, before turning back towards Slaine. “Unless of course you’ll need it after the next round.”  
“You’re nothing if not determined,” Slaine taunted, smiling, “either that, or you just really can’t lose.”  
“Maybe both.”

It was impossible to tell if Inaho was joking or earnest, and Slaine filed it away as just one more part of the other’s stubbornness. It had admittedly carried him successfully through the war, and from all that Slaine knew by now, Inaho was either the luckiest person alive, or his pure refusal to die had been responsible for surviving a direct headshot. Maybe both. 

“Let’s see, then,” he announced, stepping back onto the mat and giving a small bow, Inaho mirroring his movements. They matched, for once, even in looks, as Inaho had brought sports gear with him for the both of them. Slaine was fairly sure that it was Terran military equipment, but had agreed that his usual prison uniform was too loose-fitting to not hinder him in combat, or rather, give Inaho an advantage.

For a moment, there was silence, before Inaho called out, without taking his eye of his opponent: “If you were so kind?”  
The warden sighed unhappily, but complied.  
“I see you’re both ready, so, uhm, start?”

Slaine did not wait for a less vague command, making a dash forward and going for Inaho’s left side. It was the most natural spot to pick, but it had worked before as long as the strike was fast enough, but obviously, Inaho had anticipated it. He blocked Slaine’s hit with his right arm while twisting his body to the side and trying to land a hit with his knee on Slaine, who jumped back a step, narrowly avoiding the contact.  
“The same move won’t work on me twice,” Inaho warned, catching his own momentum and shifting back into a defensive stance instantly.

Slaine did not reply, instead focussing on his next move, feigning a punch aimed at Inaho’s head, relying on the other to duck. As soon as he registered the movement, he instantly switched to bringing down his elbow instead, feeling it connect with Inaho’s shoulder successfully and already preparing for a kick to follow up his attack when the other tackled him, stepping into his space with a turn, his body flush against Slaine’s and one arm suddenly reaching up to grab the back of his neck. There was a sudden sharp pain registering in his leg as Inaho kicked one of his knees to the side and threw himself forward, and then, the world spun. 

For a brief second, Slaine felt as if he had forgotten how to breathe, the numbing sensation of the impact spreading throughout his entire back, paralysing him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate on not panicking, trying to get his body back under control.  
  
“You’re heavy,” he managed once he had enough breath to speak again, opening his eyes to see that Inaho made no move getting up from where he was practically kneeling on Slaine’s chest, even though the larger part of his weight was on the leg keeping Slaine’s right arm pinned next to his body, Slaine’s left wrist firmly in Inaho’s grasp.  
“People usually tell me I’m too light-weight for my age,” Inaho replied in a casual tone, but moved the knee off Slaine’s chest towards the other side of his body, straddling him. 

“Five - seven.”  
“Noted,” Slaine sighed, trying to pull his arms free, but Inaho did not budge. “Though you’ll have to admit I landed a hit first.”  
Inaho shrugged the affected shoulder slightly to demonstrate the damage dealt did not impress him.  
“It doesn’t matter who gets hit first unless it renders them unable to keep fighting, it only matters who wins in the end.”  
Slaine narrowed his eyes slightly at that declaration, and stated more than he asked: “You took that hit on purpose so you could get closer and catch me off guard with that throw.” 

“Yes,” Inaho confirmed, looking fairly content with himself, as far as one could tell with him, anyway. “A ploy I remember you’re not averse to using yourself.”  
Slaine huffed. He should have known that it did not really matter what grounds their battles were fought on, the rule seemed to be that if he could think of a certain strategy, Inaho would inevitably come up with the same one, too. 

“And you berate me for being a mean fighter who doesn’t look it. I should have known you’re cunning and shameless even in hand-to-hand combat, Inaho.”  
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”  
“Not in practice, no.” 

Inaho frowned, apparently trying to discern whether that reply had been meant as an insult or as a compliment, and Slaine took his chance of momentary distraction, sitting up in one fast movement and ramming his head against Inaho’s chest, who obviously more out of surprise than out of pain leaned back, weight on Slaine’s arms shifting. He made instant use of that, pulling himself free, and pushed Inaho back with the leverage in weight and height he had over him. In the blink of an eye, he had the other pinned on his back, now, with Slaine crouching next to him, one hand around Inaho’s neck. Inaho looked at him in mild astonishment.

“Get back!” the warden yelped in clear panic, and Slaine pulled away immediately, sitting back on his heels and lifting both hands slightly to show he was not about to actually strangle Kaizuka Inaho in broad daylight in the middle of his prison building.  
“It’s fine,” Inaho said, sounding weirdly distant as if he only reeled off the usual with no conscious thought behind it and all the while keeping his focus on Slaine as he slowly sat up. “That one doesn’t count as a point, there was no start signal.”

“I told you, it’s in practice that being cunning and shameless pays off,” Slaine replied with a smile, lowering his hands again. “And you should in practice never make the mistake of leaving your opponent enough room to retaliate like I just did.”  
“I wouldn’t, normally,” Inaho insisted, looking almost indignant at the accusation, and Slaine laughed.  
“You shouldn’t with me, either.”  
“I’ve never practiced with someone before who disregards the rule that once you’ve lost, you don’t get to try again unless there’s a previous agreement is all.” 

“Vers training was less agreeable than that, then,” Slaine explained, tone entirely devoid of nostalgia. “The rules were simple: take every opportunity to strike back until your opponent no longer can move. If you left them just the tiniest opening and took a hit as a result, it was your fault, there was no saved-by-the-bell regulation.”  
Inaho tilted his head in thought, but did not look very sympathetic.  
“I guess that sort of training has its merits, too, it surely turned you into a tenacious fighter. Apart from the rather superficial instructions I had at school, I picked up most of my training from helping my sister with hers when she enlisted. But even that wasn’t as extreme.” 

“Well, you’re still quite good at it,” Slaine openly admitted, and Inaho gave the faintest hint of a pleased smile. “And I’ve been wondering - apart from your sister, do you have any more military in your family?”  
“Our father was, but I never got to know him.”  
Slaine blinked at Inaho’s casual tone and caught himself automatically reaching up to the pendant beneath his shirt, stopping the movement mid-way.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

“It’s okay, I have no memories of my parents,” Inaho said, standing up, stretching. “Almost all people have someone they lost to Heaven’s Fall, and I was fortunate enough to have my sister survive at least, so don’t worry about it.”  
Slaine shook his head, looking up at Inaho being his usual detached and composed self even when talking about personal loss.  
“Though apart from maybe a general physical disposition, I doubt that lineage plays much of a role in how good one is at this,” Inaho continued, completely oblivious to Slaine’s distress, “you’re a good example, after all, since you excel at fighting despite hailing from a family more involved with science and theory.” 

“Nature versus nurture,” Slaine recited without being serious, but Inaho nodded in acknowledgement nevertheless. “Learning to fight was not optional, so I did. That’s all there’s to it, really. I don’t take enjoyment in it.”  
“You sure seemed to enjoy your wins here.”  
“That’s because they’re simultaneously your losses.”

 Inaho blinked, but Slaine just smiled politely.  
“That’s petty,” Inaho then said, head slightly tilted to the side. “But understandable, I suppose, after everything.”  
“I’m glad you understand,” Slaine replied, getting to his feet. His back still hurt from the harsh landing, but then again, he had endured much worse. He knew his body well enough to be able to tell that Inaho’s attacks would not even leave bruises, such was the extent of controlled precision he had employed. 

Inaho bowed slightly, again stepping off the mat and talking without looking back.  
“I understand that you enjoy emerging victorious for once, so I say we call it quits for today with a score of five-eight.”  
Slaine already wanted to deliver a reply to that backhanded compliment, when Inaho turned ever so slightly, pushing up the left sleeve of his t-shirt and revealing a small white scar running transverse across his upper arm. 

“I shall take comfort in the fact that I probably still could beat you at marksmanship.”  
“Give me a gun and I can try to shoot your other eye, too, and we’ll see about that.”  
“From what distance do you want to t-”

_“Sir, no!”_  
The warden rushed to stand between them, palms extended in a placating gesture and eyes darting in clear panic back and forth.  
“I was joking,” Inaho said calmly and sounding almost confused, and Slaine bowed.  
“I am sorry if we have upset you.”

The guard looked as if he was about to have a nervous breakdown.  
“Please just stop,” he wheezed, “I feel as if I have lost ten years of my life already in here.”  
“There was never any serious threat in this,” Inaho tried to assuage him, “am I right?”  
“None,” Slaine agreed, and the man seemed to relax slightly.

“You see, if Slaine truly wanted to kill me, he would not go for an eye this time, but my heart most likely. Or the lungs. Or maybe the liver, if he should be feeling particularily sadistic.”

_“SIR!!”_


End file.
